


The Art of Surrender

by chloe_amethyst



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chloe_amethyst/pseuds/chloe_amethyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Faramir awakens in the Houses of Healing, his return to health is only just beginning.  A surprise visitor appears whose strong hands and shared wisdom may truly lead him out of the darkness, if only Faramir will let him.  Written for Angelstar3999 for Sultry In September 2013 exchange.  Hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angelstar3999](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Angelstar3999).



> Beta: Aglarien the Magnificient. Thank you to her for all she does for this fandom. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Request: Rating= up to NC-17. Pairing= Elrond/Faramir, Story elements= Fluff. h/c, Slight D/s  
> Thank you to Erviniae for cheerleading and making me laugh so hard while trying to write this. ;-)

Summary: After Faramir awakens in the Houses of Healing, his return to health is only just beginning. A surprise visitor appears whose strong hands and shared wisdom may truly lead him out of the darkness, if only Faramir will let him. Written for Angelstar3999 for Sultry In September 2013 exchange. Hope you enjoy!

Awareness flitted along the edges of Faramir’s mind for what felt like a lifetime, and with it came dreams that battled with nightmares. Sometimes he saw faces, not knowing if they were real or tricks of his eyes. 

There was Boromir, laughing at some shared joke, and his mother, with young and beautiful eyes that shined with love and pride. Those faces seemed so far away though. The faces of Beregond and the halfling, Pippin, felt clearer, although caught only in glimpses. They held smiles on their lips for him, but there was sorrow in their eyes. His father’s face loomed much closer, sometimes full of disdain and other times of grief. Closer still was old Ioreth, who had tended his hurts and fevers since he could remember, and who now sometimes wept and other times just tutted at him as she mopped his brow and brought the scent of familiar herbs before all grew dark again.

Faramir began the journey back to himself upon hearing a summons he could not deny, no matter how welcoming oblivion and death had seemed before. He woke and knew that this was his king bent over him, that all he knew before would never be again, and death no longer held his hand. But as his king had noted, Faramir was so very weary. Sleep came again, but it was peaceful and only interrupted when he overheard Ioreth telling anyone within earshot, repeatedly, about their Elfstone and the wonder of his healing hands. 

Being awake was not so peaceful. Faramir’s wounds throbbed ceaselessly across his torso, and a touch of lingering fever burned behind his eyes. The healers had tried fruitlessly to get him to rise and walk to gain strength, but he was so very tired. He was cloistered on a cot behind a hanging cloth that separated him from the rest of the wounded, in deference to his rank, but he heard the moaning of soldiers and the weeping of their families as many succumbed to their battle wounds. The memories of the bloody faces of his fallen comrades flashed before his eyes. His Lord Father’s questioning of his courage and loyalty, along with his wish that his surviving son had taken Borormir’s place, echoed in his ears. He wished he had taken his brother’s place, and his grief overwhelmed him until Ioreth or one of the other Wise Women brought him his next dose of poppy syrup, and he again found sleep. 

Days and nights passed, all much the same, until one evening when a voice he’d never heard before interrupted his sleep. It was a deep and melodious baritone that he had never heard before, and it held his slippery focus. The voice held kindness, but an air of authority and command that he could not place as he listened with his eyes closed. The conversation was with an herb-master, who did not sound as though he took kindly to advice from a stranger, yet he struggled to regain his manners and eventually spoke with great deference to the newcomer. Perhaps a visiting noble from one of the armies surrounding Minas Tirith, Faramir thought, come to see his wounded. Faramir could not feign enough curiosity to summon the energy to open his eyes.

Faramir heard the fabric hanging around his cot rustle, forcing him to finally look. The one who stood there paused and then approached Faramir slowly, gazing intently into Faramir’s eyes. The hair Faramir could see was dark and mostly hidden by the hood of a cloak. His eyes were a pale, silvery grey that seemed to sparkle with captured stars. They were careworn eyes, but the rest of his countenance was infused with something Faramir could only describe as a strange radiance behind the porcelain skin. His raiment was made from fine cloth, delicately embroidered with vines and leaves of gold and silver thread.

“Lord Faramir,” the one before him spoke, slowly and carefully. “I am Elrond, son of Eärendil, Lord of Rivendell. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Faramir felt the wheels in his poppy-slowed mind turn over as fast as their rusty axles would let them, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. He knew someone of the greatest import stood before him, and he fought through the words just spoken to assign them context. Perhaps seeing Faramir’s concerned stare, his guest reached up to pull his hood down from his crown, and Faramir saw the delicate points on the ears. Everything slotted into place then, and the full realization dawned that he was in the presence of one of the mightiest elf lords left on Arda, one whose history he had spent hours studying with Mithrandir and with his tutors, one who kept the lore of his race and the peace in his lands to the west in fabled Imladris, and who fought alongside Gil-galad and Elendil on the slopes of Mount Doom. 

Faramir’s eyes grew large as saucers and his mouth fell open with shock. As much as he wanted to return the greeting, he temporarily could not order his throat to make a sound. He lifted his head off the pillow as he stared, but felt the stabbing pain of the pull on his wounds and fell back with a groan. Elrond was right by his side in a moment.

“Easy, Faramir,” Elrond urged. “Do not strain yourself. It would be a pity to undo the meticulous work of the Wise Women here.”

“M-m-m-my lord.” Faramir could have cut out his tongue for stuttering so. “This is s-so…uh…unexpected.” Faramir paused and simply blinked at Elrond before once again herding together his thoughts. “I beg pardon for my rudeness. I welcome you to Minas Tirith, though I wish it could be in better times. How did you come to be here, my lord?”

“I was traveling east with a company from Rivendell, escorting my daughter on her journey here. She is the betrothed of Lord Aragorn. My sons rode out to meet me three days ago, and told me of Aragorn’s request to come ahead and give aid to Minas Tirith in the Houses of Healing. I have certain skills that are in need and the house is near overflowing with wounded. I left the main company and rode hastily with my sons. I have also come to see you.”

Faramir gaped once again. “Me? My lord? For what purpose?” Perhaps he was still dreaming.

Elrond smiled and removed his cloak, laying it aside. He pulled a stool next to Faramir’s bedside and sat. He reached out with his elegant hand and placed it over Faramir’s brow, then felt each cheek and on the sides of his throat. Elrond’s hand was cool, and the touch of his long fingers was light, yet Faramir felt certainty, reassurance, and authority in the touch. How, he could not say.

“Explanations will come in due time, but first I wish to examine you. May I?” 

Elrond gestured toward the wounds on Faramir’s body. Faramir stared into those glittering eyes and nodded his consent, and Elrond gently pulled the blanket down to Faramir’s waist and moved aside the bandages across Faramir’s upper chest and abdomen. Faramir let out a hiss when Elrond pressed lightly on the flesh around the wounds. “Apologies, young one.” 

Next, he took hold of Faramir’s arms, one at a time, and slowly moved them off the bed and upward, carefully watching Faramir’s face for the threshold of pain. The one closest to a wound moved hardly at all from the pain, and the other moved full range but was weak. Elrond replaced the blanket over Faramir’s chest, then rose from the stool and pushed the lower half of the blanket away from his legs, keeping his groin carefully covered. Elrond felt the pulse in both ankles and asked him to move his legs and feet in various ways. When finished, he covered Faramir again and sat back upon the stool, focusing his silent gaze on Faramir’s eyes. Elrond looked at him as though he was searching for something, and Faramir saw the concentration on his brow. Once again, Elrond returned his cool hand and laid it upon his brow, and closed his eyes for several moments as Faramir could only watch and wonder. A frown momentarily crossed Elrond’s face, and then he opened his eyes as he removed his hand, again bringing forth a gentle smile.

Elrond stood again and poked his head out between the curtains. “Mistress Ioreth, a word, please.” Faramir heard the great lord request several rare herbs from her and then speak in low tones that Faramir could not make out. He heard Ioreth’s reply to bring everything needed, and then Elrond turned back to him.

“While we wait for the good mistress to return, I shall aid some of the other wounded.” Elrond slightly raised one eyebrow and then spoke with command in his voice. “Rest now, Faramir. We will have much work to do later.”

With that, Elrond departed through the curtains. Faramir noticed the elf lord had left his cloak behind, and upon seeing it, he felt a warmth and reassurance that Elrond really would return. He had not, in fact, been dreaming. 

*******************************************************************************************************  
Not only did Elrond return the next day, but he returned with a near battalion of healers and their apprentices who came in and out through the curtains in the early morning. They brought small cauldrons of fragrant, steaming tisanes; small braziers over which herbs were sprinkled to burn; smelly unguents and poultices; and short stacks of folded cloth. Elrond also called for food to bolster Faramir’s healing, but there were still such severe shortages in the city that the thin broth and dry pieces of bread that made up daily fare had to continue.

Faramir began to protest that he could not accept special treatment when his fellow soldiers were also in need. Elrond reassured him. “Your comrades are being provided for as well, and I have advised the healers on the use of medicines and other treatments that were not familiar to them. Others of my companions from Rivendell have sought out carpenters and wood turners to fashion legs for those who have lost them and crutches and canes for those who will regain the use of theirs. Do not worry, for your men are well cared for.” Faramir, for the first time in very long, began to feel a glimmer of hope for his beloved comrades.

“I will be concentrating most of my efforts now on you, Lord Faramir, but I will need certain things from you in return. You must obey all of my orders for your treatment, both medicinal and recreational. You must work with me and be honest about how you are feeling as well as what troubles you.” Elrond’s countenance was very much that of the Lord of Imladris at this moment, full of authority that Faramir felt keenly and was drawn toward. “Most of all, you must want your complete recovery and not settle for anything less.”

“Aye, my lord. I will do as you ask, to the best I am able, as it pleases you.” He did not know why, but the thought of doing all the elf lord asked of him and earning his praise suffused him with warmth, and not a little heat.

“Excellent, young one. Let’s begin.”

*******************************************************************************************************  
Thus began such a long and arduous journey toward healing that Faramir at times doubted he would find his way through. Almost immediately, Elrond had him up and out of bed, wrapped in a robe, and walking with wobbly legs toward the garden with his good arm wrapped around the elf lord’s to keep his balance. At the garden entrance, Elrond let him rest on a bench to catch his breath. Faramir had to admit to himself that the sunshine on his face felt good after the long dark from the east had enveloped his people for so long.

Elrond walked over to a vine of sweetly fragrant white flowers tinged with yellow and picked some before sitting down next to Faramir. He put the blossoms to his nose and inhaled deeply, a smile on his face. 

“Lissuin. I did not know it grew in the city.” Elrond looked wistful as he spoke.

“Our people call it ‘honeysuckle’. Children pluck the blooms from the vines, bite off the green end, and suck a drop of the sweetest nectar from the blossom.” Faramir remembered when he and Boromir had done the same as children.

“My people know it for bringing the heart ease with its fragrance. I have sought it myself many times.” Elrond tucked the nosegay into a pocket on Faramir’s robe. “It is a great wonder how such beauty remains on Arda even in the midst of unfathomable darkness. Such a simple thing, yet it is often the simple things that tether us to hope.” 

Faramir stared into Elrond’s light eyes and noted again the sorrow and wisdom intermingled in them. It was unimaginable to think of how much loss such a long life as Elrond’s had borne, and Faramir wondered for a moment at his own state of mind and if his own dark curtain would ever lift. They were both quiet for long moments until the elf lord stood and extended his hand to him.

“Come along, young one. We have more work to do.”

 

*******************************************************************************************************

Faramir did not know it at the time, but that walk was the start of a three times a day event, with each day’s walks growing a bit longer. It was exhausting, but walking arm and arm with the loremaster while listening to his countless stories compelled Faramir, who would never refuse him. Elrond strolled with him, sometimes to the garden where the fragrant lissuin still bloomed in profusion, and other times to the stables housed within the Sixth Circle, where they both stroked the horses’ velvety noses and told each other of favorite steeds they had ridden in the past. 

After each stroll, Elrond returned Faramir to sit upon his cot and gave him watered wine infused with herbs. Next he had him lie down while Elrond carefully massaged his arms and legs, paying special attention to the bad arm, and to the muscles in his chest and abdomen. Elrond used fragrant oils over Faramir’s skin that sometimes warmed and at other times cooled his skin. After so many long years of near constant battle, sleeping on the hard ground, marching long miles, and usually sporting wounds of one kind or another, this simple comfort felt better than anything Faramir could remember. The warmth and surety of Elrond’s hands lifted Faramir out of himself and his surroundings. There was only sensation, deep gratitude, and the awareness that he was under the hands of one he would do anything for in return, if only asked. 

As Faramir grew stronger, these sessions would often kindle heat, much to Faramir’s tremendous embarrassment. The first time it happened, he felt his face flush crimson as he bit his lip and silently prayed the elf lord would not notice his burgeoning erection under the small cloth that covered his groin for modesty. Better still, he pleaded the cot would open up and swallow him whole. Elrond’s hands never slowed or diverged from their regular path. 

“Faramir, your mortification really is not necessary.” Faramir forced his eyes away from the ceiling and onto Elrond’s face. “Your response is not all that unusual.” Faramir gulped, and he remained mortified. “You are a young man, you have been confined without relief for a long time, and your strength is gradually returning. This is a gift to us both, really, for it tells me I am helping you, and it tells you there will eventually be an end to this journey.”

An end. Faramir was unexpectedly yanked out of his embarrassment and filled with a cold dread at the word. What is the end, he wondered. What happens after? He knew his king needed him, the one he had waited his whole life to return to Gondor. That meant a return to command for Faramir, and taking on the duties of steward. Impossibly, it felt as though he would need to be his brother and his father simultaneously, and his father’s constant doubt in him and lifelong favor to his much more deserving brother, roared through his mind and drained him completely. The source of his earlier mortification deflated as well.

Elrond’s hands left him, and Faramir turned to look into his eyes, saw his piercing gaze, and abruptly looked away. He knew then that Elrond saw his much deeper shame--doubt about his very birthright and place as a leader of men. There had been too many and too much lost, and he had nothing of worth left to give. He could not hide in the Houses of Healing forever, though. His king had called him to serve, but Faramir had no idea how he could.

“Faramir, sit up and look at me.” Faramir slowly turned his gaze back to Elrond, who picked up one of his hands and gripped it firmly as Faramir rose carefully and turned to swing his legs over the side of the cot, facing Elrond..

“Did Lord Denethor reveal to you, before Boromir journeyed west, that my council met in the Last Homely House and chose you to come to us to represent Gondor among all the kingdoms and races of Arda?”

“Yes, my lord. I did know. Because of my dreams. My father said it was a mistake and wisely chose Boromir to go. My whole life I longed to journey to the elven kingdoms, but the task was my brother’s. He is... was...the greatest warrior of our people, unmatched in his bravery and skill. Knowing his fate, I would give anything to go back and take his place. Gondor needs him to rebuild more now than ever before. And I need him.” 

Faramir’s eyes filled, to his shame. Elrond reached out his other hand and held it against Faramir’s cheek for a moment, and then took hold of his other hand, claiming both with that sure, firm grip.

“But you do not know why the council chose you. It was not simply because of your dreams, young one. The elven lords, their advisors, Aragorn, and Mithrandir all desired your presence. Your skill as a warrior matched your brother’s, and surpassed him with the bow and in mastering horses. But more importantly, we knew of your great wisdom and love of learning, which guided your decisions in war and protected your men as well as they could be against impossible odds. Equally as vital, we knew of your great compassion, which, combined with your valor and sacrifice, earned you the abiding love of every man under your leadership. How many times did you personally risk your life, when you could have sent other men in your place, to rescue wounded or trapped warriors? And here, in the city and across the kingdom, you won the hearts of your people because you showed your love for them through service, to the lowliest of laborers to the highest born. Their petitions and cares have been worth your time and tactful mediation, and they dearly love you for it. They do still. I have walked among them daily in my time here. I know. Aragorn knows it, too. Minas Tirith would have fallen to the Dark Lord long before had it not been for you.”

Faramir’s brow wrinkled in confusion and consideration of what Elrond was attempting to tell him. Surely the people and his liege knew of his failures and helplessness after his return from the desperate and ill-fated charge across the Pelennor--so helpless his father had nearly burned him alive while Faramir could do nothing to stop it. He hadn’t even been able to stand with Aragorn at the war’s end.

“You asked me when I first came here, why I had come to see you. I have seen all of you--your past, your future, everything. I know the part you have yet to play and why you must play it.”

Faramir’s head dropped low, and he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to shut out thoughts of the future. Elrond reached under his chin and gently but firmly brought his head back up until he met his gaze. Then Elrond’s hand eased to the back of his neck. He felt Elrond’s gaze so profoundly, as if it nudged at something deep within, that he had to give up his resistance and open his mind to listen to the lord’s words.

“The wounds to your body were not so great as to endanger your life, though they have required a long recovery, but any of the Wise Women here could have seen to your healing. Rather, I came for your heart’s healing so that the world of men may also heal.” 

“But, my lord...”

“Faramir, the Black Breath felled you not because you are weak. You resisted far longer than nearly any man would be able, fighting long years with unsurpassed valor under the looming shadow, while at the same time grieving the mounting losses of those you loved and the love withheld from you.”

Faramir swallowed hard and felt his eyes fill again, but he could not look away.

“Neither did Aragorn summon you from the dark and save your life because of any failure. Your king also knows your heart, and he knows that for the armies of men to come together under his rule, he must have you by his side as his most trusted advisor. Your wisdom, compassion, courage, and love of your people, as well as their love for you, will help your king unite the world of men and bring it into a new age. And that is why he summoned me.”

Elrond paused a few moments, to let his words penetrate Faramir’s mind, and then continued.

“I know very well the difficult journey from crushing sorrow to some semblance of peace. I’ve lost many and sometimes given up hope, even losing the one to whom I was bound after her soul was destroyed by the evil in this world. She released me before crossing into the West. That was many lifetimes ago for men, but elves have the luxury of unending time to heal from blows to the heart. You do not.”

Faramir felt tears slip from his eyes and crawl down his face. Elrond stood and moved to the cot, sitting close to him. He placed one hand on Faramir’s shoulder and the other on his cheek.

“Young one, do not fear. You will be restored and I will be here every step of the way. As will your king and the many friends you have here. You will fulfill your destiny, live a long life, and generations after will sing songs praising your name.”

A dam loosened in Faramir, one built by grief and despair of the future. His face crumpled and he began to sob openly, but he knew it was from the ray of hope that penetrated him. Elrond wrapped his hands around him and pulled him close to his chest. Burying his face in Elrond’s neck, he felt the lord’s lips press a kiss to his head.

“That’s it, young one. This is what I have been waiting for you to give me. Give me everything and let go. Take from me my faith in you and my knowledge of who you truly are. I will give you what you need.”

Faramir’s mind would not work anymore; he could only feel. He felt Elrond’s powerful arms wrapped around him, the heat from his body, and the pulse on his neck against his cheek. And Faramir felt safe, and maybe even loved.

*******************************************************************************************************  
Elrond held Faramir long into that evening, telling him stories of Arda’s history until Faramir grew sleepy and could rest. When he woke the next morning, he saw a half dozen small jugs and jars placed around his cot holding gathered lissuin, the fragrance bringing a smile to his face.

In the weeks that passed, there were many more walks and exercises, including gentle maneuvering of his sword and bow to strengthen his upper body, followed by warm, moist wraps on his muscles and massages. There were more visits from friends as well, and Faramir found he could laugh at their jokes and hold great interest in reports of repairs to their city and planting of crops in the surrounding farms.

There were far fewer herbs and unguents, but Elrond was still present for every part of the continued recovery, and they grew closer. When they walked, arm in arm often moved down to hand in hand. At night, when Elrond returned to his chambers, leaving Faramir in the Houses of Healing, Faramir keenly felt the loss of his presence. But before retiring, Elrond always embraced him now and left a kiss upon his brow or cheek. Faramir was not sure if it meant something more, as he hoped, but time would tell.

Eventually the day came when Faramir was permitted to continue his recovery outside the Houses of Healing and returned to his rooms. Much to his delight, Elrond’s quarters were close by, and each day’s regimen began in either his chamber or in Elrond’s. As traders were able to come to the city with their goods, more food became available, and he and Elrond often took their modest but more adequate suppers in Elrond’s chamber. 

After they ate, they sipped wine and discussed the history of Arda as seen through the eyes of elves and men, or they played games of strategy, or shared poetry. Elrond also coaxed him to share his doubts or fears, as the time for Faramir to take on some of his duties grew near. When he felt reluctant to share, Elrond’s voice took on the timbre of command and Faramir could not refuse him. He would then feel decidedly relieved once he confessed his doubts. After these confessions, Elrond praised him, his voice planting pictures of possibility in Faramir’s mind, and peace and adoration in his heart.

Often, Faramir would look up from their meal or game to see Elrond looking at him with an intense gaze, one that made Faramir blush and feel heat in his groin. He did not understand how he knew, but he was certain Elrond was aware of the affect he had on him. One evening, Faramir learned Elrond felt it, too.

They were side by side upon a settee, having run out of things to say, yet they lingered in the silence comfortably. Elrond turned to face him, the lord’s eyes glittering even more brightly by candlelight. He lifted an elegant hand to Faramir’s face and cupped his jaw, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Then his hand moved into Faramir’s hair and began gently combing through it. His other hand moved behind Faramir’s head and he pulled him in until their lips met.

The kiss was soft, but neither questioning nor tentative. Faramir felt his blood rise and his heart quicken. Elrond pulled him closer against his chest, and he felt the lord’s heat flow through his tunic and seep into him. It felt so unlike the embrace of a man or woman.

Faramir flicked his tongue against Elrond’s lower lip, asking him to deepen their kiss, which Elrond answered by opening his lips and kissing him breathless. When they broke apart, Elrond rose and tugged Faramir up and against him and began to slide his lips and tongue along his jaw. Faramir lost himself as his blood began to burn, held within Elrond’s powerful arms, feeling a ridge of hardened flesh against his own.

He tilted his head as Elrond’s lips found his neck, gently kissing and mouthing him, and he felt the lord’s hands slide to his backside and caress him. “Good?” Elrond asked, his warm breath floating over Faramir’s heated skin.

“Aye, lord,” Faramir whispered back as he rubbed his groin against Elrond’s, aware of how shameless he seemed, but not caring.

“Will you give yourself to me, Faramir?”

“Yes, I will. Please.”

Elrond took his hand and led him to the bed, capturing him again in a kiss as he pressed him back onto the bed. Elrond unbuttoned Faramir’s tunic and pulled it from him, then the shirt beneath. He stood for a moment and removed his robes and leggings, and Faramir’s eyes drank in the sight of him. Elrond was lean, but broad in the shoulders and well-muscled. His torso was hairless, with a thatch of dark hair that grew around the most beautiful cock Faramir had ever seen, red with excitement against the porcelain flesh of Elrond’s abdomen. Faramir devoured him with his eyes.

Elrond returned to the bed and moved over Faramir, supporting his weight on his forearms, and dove in for another kiss, pressing him back into the pillows. Faramir’s hands slipped to Elrond’s backside and squeezed the firm flesh there, while Faramir’s groin ground up against the hard column of flesh above him. 

Elrond broke the kiss and breathed out a low rumble. “Oh, Eru,” he whispered. Then the lord pulled up and away, and for a moment Faramir feared he had done something to dissuade him. But he had only moved lower to begin unlacing the leather strings of Faramir’s leggings. Once they were loose, Elrond’s hands began to rub down Faramir’s sides and then over his abdomen, lower and lower, until one hand reached beneath the leggings and caressed his cock through his loincloth. Faramir breathed in sharply and then let out a groan. Elrond leaned up to pull away the clothes, and Faramir’s cock sprang free as his legs parted to grant access. He sat part way up, reaching for Elrond, wishing to pleasure him in every way he could.

Elrond placed a hand on Faramir’s chest and pushed him back down to the mattress. “No, young one, I desire more from you. Do you trust me, Faramir?”

“With my life, lord.”

“Then trust me with your pleasure and your heart. Give everything to me, Faramir. Tonight, forget about the past and the future, your city, and your king. Let me have everything you are, Faramir. Think only of pleasing me and submit yourself to me, and I will bring you pleasure like you have never known. Trust me, Faramir. Surrender to me.”

Faramir was entranced as he listened, as Elrond’s voice grabbed hold of some long-held desire and pulled it out into the open. “Yes, lord. I am yours.” 

“Reach behind you, young one, and grasp the headboard with both hands.” Faramir could not resist the demand, delivered entirely without threat but no less insistent. He reached up to one of the spindles carved into the center of the massive wooden piece. Elrond then showed him that he held the leather laces just removed from his breeches. Faramir startled for a moment and looked carefully at the elf lord, seeing the heat in his eyes and the small, pleased smile on his lips. There was nothing but benevolence and desire there, and Faramir was not afraid.

Elrond leaned forward and tied the leather around his wrists and the spindle, securing it comfortably but with no chance for escape. Pausing first to deliver a forceful kiss to Faramir’s lips, Elrond then moved his lips along his jaw. A tremor ran through Faramir, and he bared his neck for him. 

“Yes, that’s it. Let me take what I want.”

Faramir shut his eyes, groaning, and let go of awareness of everything except Elrond’s mouth, hands, heat, and scent. He felt teeth grazing his collarbone, followed by a warm, wet tongue. Elrond massaged his chest, pinched his nipples, and made him squirm. He took each into his mouth to suck in turn, and Faramir’s inability to caress him back fueled his ardor to burn even brighter.

Faramir held his breath as Elrond worked his way further down his body, stopping just above his length. The lord then rose off him and pushed his legs apart and back until Faramir was completely bared to him. Elrond reached down and caressed Faramir’s sac with one hand, and gave several firm strokes to Faramir’s cock with the other, as drops of his essence pearled at the end. Faramir opened his eyes as Elrond sat back on his heels, appraising him as he stroked. “You are beautiful. I have you just as I want you, and you know I will not harm you.”

Faramir wished for a moment that he was free so he could take his lord in his mouth and suck him down, returning to him a portion of the pleasure given; but that thought was replaced with a sudden surety that his trust, his surrender, his submission, was Elrond’s pleasure. He gave himself up to the elf lord’s care while he took that pleasure, handed him the weight of all he had borne, and let his heart embrace Elrond’s gift.

Elrond scooted down on the bed and lowered his mouth to Faramir, taking the crown between his lips and gently sucking. Then he slowly licked a stripe up and down the underside of his cock. Faramir could not control his need to thrust up into Elrond’s mouth, but hands on his hips held him firmly and stopped his movement. “Do not move,” Elrond whispered. Faramir moaned and stilled, holding himself in check as commanded.

Elrond leaned to the left and grabbed a small bottle off the table there, pouring the contents into one hand before replacing it. He began to spread the slick all around Faramir’s groin, massaging as he went. Two fingers then dropped to his entrance and massaged the flesh. “Deep breath, beloved,” and before Faramir could ponder the endearment, the tip of a single finger pierced him, circled a bit, and then slowly and steadily pushed in until deep inside.

Faramir panted as he accepted the burn and fullness, and then felt a second finger begin to enter him. The burn grew until it forced a hiss from between Faramir’s teeth until he pushed the pain aside and concentrated on his lord opening him. The second finger was fully seated and Elrond moved within him, then found a spot that sent such a jolt of wanton desire to Faramir’s groin that he gave a shout. Elrond rubbed over it again and again until Faramir felt his completion was imminent. Elrond abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving Faramir empty for a moment. Elrond sat up and gathered Faramir’s legs, and then the lord’s hard length breached him and pushed in slowly and steadily until fully seated.

Elrond paused for a moment while Faramir blew out several deep breaths to get acclimated, and then the lord drew back and began thrusting into him. Faramir met his strokes with as much counterforce as he could muster. He wanted to be closer, feel every inch, and Elrond allowed him that movement. He felt the strokes over that spot again send jolts to his groin, but this time it spread throughout his pelvis, to his lower back, and eventually tensing his entire body. “That’s it,” Elrond panted out. “Now you are mine.”

“Yours, my lord,” Faramir gasped out.

Elrond let go of one of Faramir’s legs and took firm hold of his cock. His hand was still slick and he stroked him briskly with a twist to his wrist each time he reached the head before returning back down. Faramir threw his head back and moaned as the pace of Elrond’s thrusts hammered into him. It was too much to hold on any longer, and he let loose a cry as his come shot out in four hard spurts that covered Elrond’s hand. His body was rigid and shook through the release of his pleasure, his entrance clenching around Elrond until he too cried out and his thrusts broke their rhythm to spurt his essence deep into Faramir.

Elrond collapsed over Faramir, both of their chests heaving and covered in sweat. He reached up and released the knot around Faramir’s wrists, and brought both of Faramir’s arms down gently. Faramir wrapped them both around Elrond and clung to him as Elrond buried his face into his neck, his hot breath huffing over his ear.

When their breathing had slowed, Elrond pulled out and captured Faramir’s lips in a deep and languorous kiss, softly playing with his tongue. He withdrew and gazed into Faramir’s eyes and stroked the hair by his temple. “Are you well, my fair one?”

“I am incredible, my lord. How are you?”

“Exceptional. And well pleased. So well pleased that you have completely exhausted me.” Elrond placed soft kisses over Faramir’s grinning face.

Thoughts of life beyond this bedchamber seeped into Faramir’s mind, and he grew serious for a moment. “What of the future?”

“I see a nap in our future. And then I will awaken and devour you again.” Elrond continued with his kisses.

“No, I mean our future. As in, do we have one? Or is this merely a temporary respite from the cares of the world? You will return to your lands soon, will you not? My duty is here. Do I have you now only to lose you soon?”

“I called you ‘beloved’ not just because I was in the midst of my passion. I will be here for many years, for I foresaw it. I saw myself invited to sit upon your king’s council and to help with negotiations with the elven kingdoms. Then I saw myself playing with my future grandson here and watching him grow into a strong young man, the adored prince of his people. Finally, I saw myself by your side through it all, pining for you when sent away on errand for your king, and rejoicing when you returned. The Valar have planned many long years for us here, if you will have me.”

“I will. I love you.” 

“And I love you, young one. I will of course journey to Imladris from time to time, and perhaps your king will be persuaded to let you accompany me with the promise of our return. You have longed to see the valley, yes?”

“Since I was a child, my lord.” Faramir smiled broadly.

“Beyond that, I cannot foresee. So I will not borrow trouble and try to know all now. Sometimes we all must surrender and trust to hope.”

Faramir sighed contentedly and felt a deep peace wash over him. He knew he had come through tragedy blessed, and he would walk with Elrond into the future. He had surrendered his aching heart and knew it had been returned to him whole.

~End~


End file.
